Josh had sat
across from her long enough. He stood and moved
to her side of the booth in a panther like
way. At least thats what he would
write later on Facebook.

What are
you doing? Claires voice was muffled
by the French fries she was chewing on. She
dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a paper
napkin.

He slid into
the booth and smiled. You know, he
said, winking.

She laughed,
and a small, mashed-up piece of French fry flew
out of her mouth and landed on the table. I
dont know anything, she said, and
hacked into the napkin.

I think
you do, Joshua told her, but his plan was
quickly failing. She was laughing at him. Did
anyone else see what was going on? The restaurant
was filled with families and old agers. Were they
all laughing at him?

Josh, at the
tender age of 37, had not yet reached the
maturity to realize no one cared. Unless he
became the leader of a cult or stopped filing his
tax returns, he would not be the center of
anyones attention, ever.

Hey, can
you move? I have to pee. Claire wiped her
mouth and stared at him. He stared back.
Okay, like, now? she said, making
pushing movements with her hands.

He slid out of
the booth and watched her walk to the bathroom.
He was lost. None of his charm had worked. Maybe
she hated men? You cant change a man-hater,
thats what he would write on Facebook that
night.

He took out
his wallet and threw a twenty on the table,
hoping it would cover the bill. Then he thought
better of it and stuffed the money back into his
jean pocket. Before she even returned to the
table he would be in the food court, making eyes
at the hot girl making grinders.